


Circadian Rhythm

by skeleton_twins



Series: Cycles [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Narcolepsy, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton_twins/pseuds/skeleton_twins
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot has a secret: he has narcolepsy, a sleeping disorder. He tries to keep this a secret but he's been busy lately.  Detective Jim Gordon comes to visit at the worst possible time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Idea inspired by this fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/307095/chapters/491159
> 
> A billion thanks to thekeyholder for betaing!!!

Oswald Cobblepot has a secret.

 

Of course, this is not the first time Oswald has a secret, and it certainly won’t be the last time either. In his line of business, Oswald is used to having secrets. Usually he discovers his opponents’ secrets, and uses them against them, waiting for the right moment to strike before throwing their weakness in their face.

 

Because, after all, secrets are simply weaknesses waiting to be preyed upon by your enemies. Oswald knows that. That’s why he takes the highest precaution of keeping his secret under wraps.

 

At the age of fifteen, Oswald was diagnosed with narcolepsy. Of course, Oswald was aware something was wrong with him long before that - how he would struggle to stay awake during his school lessons was a clear giveaway, even though his mother would disagree, saying there was nothing wrong with ‘ _her boy’._

 

He learned early on how vulnerable this made him. The other children made that abundantly clear after cruelly targeting him during his episodes, though, of course they didn’t only strike when he had these sleep attacks. It merely added one more thing for them to bully him about.

 

A quiet rage begins to boil beneath his skin, coiling in his gut like a snake ready to lash out as he remembers his past school days. It infuriates him that these memories still affect him so. Still he learned a valuable lesson from all their relentless teasing, it shaped him into the man he is today.

 

Which is why he knows no one, absolutely no one, could find out about his condition. Oswald can only imagine the joy his enemies - especially Fish Mooney - would have if they knew. Oswald is always careful when it comes to making sure he takes his medication on time -  he certainly doesn’t want to have a sleep attack during a meeting with one of his opponents. They wouldn’t hesitate slicing his throat while he slept.

 

It has been a week since he last took his medication. He’s been too busy trying to escape with his life after Maroni surprised him when he took Oswald out to his cabin, and after almost being crushed to death at the junkyard, Falcone immediately gifted Oswald with the nightclub for his dutiful service. So Oswald is up to his ears with decision making. There are just so many renovations to be done to Fish’s old club. He wants every trace of Fish Mooney’s presence gone.

 

It doesn’t matter anyway. When he finally has a moment to himself, he finds that the prescription bottle is empty. Exasperated, Oswald pinches the bridge of his nose before calling Gabe into his office.

 

“Yes, Boss?”

 

“Gabe, I need you to run and...obtain some more of those pills for me. I ran out.” He explains. “As always your discretion will be rewarded generously.”

 

“And one more thing before you go,” he adds before the henchman reaches the door. “Please inform the others that under absolutely no circumstance do I want any visitors. Is that clear?”

 

Gabe nods once before leaving to do as he was ordered. Oswald drops his head into his hands, already woozy from the urge to sleep. Everything’s foggy, his brain capacity slows down at least by half on days like this. Oswald knows there’s not a chance he’ll be able to actually get anything done today without his pills. He’s having too many micro-sleep episodes, and usually he never has any recollections after they happen. During these episode he loses consciousness only for a few seconds while his body goes on autopilot. He knows that he’s just experienced one after glancing down at his accounting ledger and finding his precise neat handwriting becoming into an unintelligible scrawl.

 

If he can just stay awake until Gabe comes back, he’ll be fine.

 

He knows that it’s going to be a while before his henchman returns; it usually takes him quite some time to return with the medicine, since Gabe has to jump through a lot of hoops in order not to have that certain drug traced back to Oswald.

 

Oswald is considering bribing a doctor who could just prescribe him the pills under an alias. He’s weighing the pros and cons of that option when he hears his office door slam open. While he appreciates the urgency Gabe took to the matter, he should know better than just bursting in without knocking first. In fact, he knows Gabe wouldn’t.

 

There’s only a handful of people who would have the audacity to barge in. When he looks up, he’s expecting Don Falcone. Instead it’s Jim Gordon in his plain dark blue suit, holding his GCPD badge in one hand. Oswald assumes that he must have flashed his badge to the men out front in order to make his way in.

 

As much as Oswald enjoys Jim’s little visits, this is certainly not the best time for the Detective to be here. Suppressing the urge to loudly groan, Oswald smiles tightly. “Surely knocking is not out of your span of capabilities, Detective? Good manners cost nothing, you know.”

 

Jim ignores him, “We need to talk.”

 

“Couldn’t this wait? I am rather busy at the moment.”

 

“No,” Jim answered bluntly.

 

Oswald has to bite his tongue to hold back a rather ill-bred comment, “In that case, please take a seat.” He waves his hand towards the chair in front of his desk.

 

Jim hesitates, like he’s considering standing right where he is for the rest of the conversation. He’s acting like sitting down in Oswald’s chair would put another dent in his ‘the only clean cop in Gotham’ reputation.

 

Oswald rolls his eyes at how stubborn Jim is, “I’m simply offering you a seat, Detective. I’m not asking you to murder a man.”

 

Jim narrows his eyes at that, but regardless, he finally grabs the back of the chair and sits down. Oswald breathes out a sigh of relief.

 

“Did you have anything to do with the murder of...”

 

Oswald’s trying to listen to Jim. He’s attempting to pay attention to what his friend is saying but is finding it challenging to focus on the words being said. He’s drifting, fighting to stay awake as a wave of fatigue washes over him.

 

“Cobblepot.” Jim tries to get the gangster’s attention when he notices that Oswald has stopped moving, completely still.

 

Cobblepot doesn’t respond, and it almost looks like Oswald’s not able to hear him or even see him, for that matter. He tries waving his hand back and forth in front of the mobster’s face and nothing. Oswald doesn’t respond.

 

“Oswald!” Jim raises his voice, smacking the desk with his fist to make a little extra noise.

 

That startles the criminal, jumping in alarm, and his chair rolls a little back away from his desk. Oswald’s looking around, blinking, trying to get his senses back in working order when his gaze falls back to the Detective.

 

Jim is watching him and Oswald can feel warmth spreading from the back of his neck to his cheeks under his scrutiny. “Yes?”

 

“What just happened back there?”

 

Oswald is at a loss about what Jim could possibly be referring to. They have been discussing a murdered victim and Oswald’s possible involvement. Oswald is running through his memory coming up with blanks. Was there a chance he had just confessed to a crime in front of the detective? Surely not. He doesn’t exactly remember murdering anyone recently...

 

It takes a second for Oswald to realize he probably spaced out a bit in front of Jim, “Oh, sorry old friend, just a little distracted, that’s all.”

 

Jim’s not buying his weak excuse, Oswald knows that Jim’s not convinced. The Detective doesn’t have much of a poker face or he simply doesn’t care to express his doubt about Oswald’s explanation.

 

“Distracted?” Jim repeats. His eyebrow raises, causing his forehead to wrinkle, “You weren’t distracted, you were completely unresponsive.”

 

“I...I was really distracted?” Oswald shrugs.

 

Jim opens his mouth to reply something, but is interrupted by Gabe storming into the office. “Hey, Boss, got your pills!”

 

Oswald wants to slam his head against the desk, instead he levels a glare at Gabe. “Does nobody know how to knock anymore?!”

 

His right-hand man stops short when he sees Jim sitting in the office, “Sorry, Boss.”

 

Oswald shakes his head, he’s much too tired to deal with this, he needs his medication, but he can’t take it in front of Jim - not without raising more questions for the detective. Oswald stands from his seat, holding his arm out towards the exit. “Gabe, if you could please show Detective Gordon out.”

 

Jim, of course, isn’t going to let this go. No, once something doesn’t make sense to the man, he won’t stop until he gets answers. He stands from his chair as well, “Who are those pills for? What are you planning on doing with those?”

 

Giving his best innocent smile, “It’s nothing you should be concerned about, don’t worry.”

 

Jim frowns, clearly not convinced. Oswald doesn’t correct the detective’s assumptions, purposely letting him think the worse. Knowing Jim, he’s probably thinking the pills are cyanide, waiting to be delivered to one of his rivals.

 

Oswald circles the desk, his plan is to walk Jim to the door. He makes it two steps in before his knees buckles. The last thing he’s aware of is strong arms catching him, before he’s completely unconscious with sleep.

 

*****

 

When he comes to, Oswald realizes he’s no longer in his office. Instead, he’s laying in his bed in his apartment above the nightclub. He blinks a couple of times, still feeling a bit tired, but the nap certainly helped. He spots his medication on the table next to his bed. He swallows the pills, washing them down with the glass of water that was also kindly provided to him.

 

He’s not sure how long he’s been out - he never knows with these sleep attacks - so he quickly stands and hurries out into the hallway, tracking down Gabe.

 

“Gabe?” He calls out, moving down the stairs that lead out to the nightclub. “Did Detective Gordon leave?”

 

As he reaches the bottom step, he finds the answer to his question sitting at the bar, looking over at him.

 

Oswald stops in his tracks. Jim Gordon is still there, sitting at his bar: he never left.

 

Oswald ignores the fluttering in his chest, and continues his path towards the detective. Gabe is behind the bar, he’s probably been entertaining Jim while Oswald slept.

 

“Well, I suppose that answers my question,” Oswald says as he reaches the two. “Why are you still here, Detective? I would have figured you were long since gone.”

 

Jim looks uncomfortable with the question, his voice gruff when he responds, “You passed out. I wanted to make sure you were still breathing.”

 

Oswald tries to keep his face as still as possible at Jim’s response, but he can feel his face flushing at the fact that Jim has stayed strictly out of concern for Oswald. One could describe Jim’s actions as friendly, something that only a worried friend would do.

 

 _Or maybe it’s not as one-sided as you think, Oswald,_ a small part of him thinks, but he quickly stamps down any hope. Jim Gordon wouldn’t be interested in him - not romantically - Oswald can only hope for reluctant friendship.

 

“I trust Gabe kept you company? How long was I out anyway?” He directs the question at Gabe.

 

“Not long, Boss. Maybe 15 minutes at the most.”

 

Oswald nods, pleased with what he hears.

 

“Do I at least get some kind of explanation about what happened?” Jim question drags Oswald’s attention away from his thoughts and back to the present.

 

“Gabe didn’t inform you while I was out?” Oswald glances back and forth between Jim and the man behind the bar.

 

“He wouldn’t tell me, said it wasn’t his place.”

 

Oswald smiles to himself at the strong loyalty of Gabe. He has to remember to double his next paycheck. “Thank you, Gabriel. You can leave.”

 

As soon as the henchman is out of the room, Oswald sits down at the bar stool next to the detective. “It’s not something I like to talk about...Only Gabe and my mother knows about it...”

 

“You’re sick,” Jim guesses, sounding a lot more resigned than Oswald would have expected. “How long do you got?”

 

Oswald cringes at how loud Jim is and quickly glances around, making sure none of his employees overheard. “Do lower your voice, Detective I don’t want everyone in the club to know. I’m not sick, not exactly...Wait -Do you think I’m dying?”

 

This time it’s Jim who’s blushing, “I-I just assumed-with the pills and you passing out...”

 

Oswald’s head is spinning. Apparently, Jim assumed that Oswald was terminally ill, and was upset at the possibility of it being true. Oswald doesn’t know how to react to this information, the flickering flame of hope that Oswald extinguished earlier suddenly rekindles, blooming ten times stronger than before.

 

“I’m not dying,” Oswald quickly reassures him and looks away, “I don’t make it a habit to broadcast this but...I have narcolepsy, Jim.”

 

“Oh.”

 

It surprises Oswald that sharing this potential dangerous secret with Jim doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should. Despite this, he still has to make sure, “I trust that you will keep this between us?...If Maroni finds out...” Oswald trails off, leaving Jim’s imagination to figure out the rest.

 

Jim nods.

 

It’s silent and Oswald’s expecting Jim to leave now the he got his answers, but the detective is just filled with surprises today as he doesn’t move from the bar stool.

 

“Must be rough...Uh… Living with that.”

 

Oswald has to fight off a smile at Jim’s awkward attempt at making small talk with him. The fact that Jim is not leaving, but staying - Oswald can’t help but feel ecstatic. He tries to keep the excitement out of his voice as he explains, “It does makes things more challenging.”


End file.
